


A King's Ransom

by My_Alter_Ego



Series: Love or Lust [4]
Category: White Collar
Genre: F/M, Fences, Heist of Crowned Jewels, Hot Sex, The Usual Origami Flower
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-26
Updated: 2018-10-26
Packaged: 2019-08-07 21:17:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,623
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16416122
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/My_Alter_Ego/pseuds/My_Alter_Ego
Summary: The robbery of some Swedish royal artifacts pulls Neal into a problematic situation, both with Peter and another old friend. However, Neal is Neal, and he cleverly finds a solution that works for everybody.





	A King's Ransom

**Author's Note:**

> The basis of this story about the theft of these particular Swedish royal objects is based on fact. They were stolen in August of 2018 in just the manner described. I haven’t read that they have been recovered, so the rest of my story is all fiction. Enjoy!

It’s the beginning days of August, and Peter Burke has called his CI, Neal Caffrey, into his office. He carefully closes the door for whatever privacy that maneuver could offer. Peter’s work space is like a glass fishbowl and nosy heads down below in the bullpen are bobbing up like prairie dogs. Most are assuming that Caffrey is being brought to task for yet another of his outside-the-lines shenanigans. Jones and Diana nod at each other and smile ruefully. They’ve been down this road many times, and feel a bit of sympathy for their boss who probably has to sort out yet another mess.

Neal sits quietly with a look of complete innocence on his face. That’s his default setting when it comes to interrogations, be it from a heavy-handed stray police detective or a very perceptive FBI agent. He sometimes thinks that Peter knows him too well, and their cat and mouse competition will probably last a lifetime. Nonetheless, the dynamic will most likely always remain the same. Neither man completely trusts the other, and each harbors their own secrets and trump cards to play at the opportune time. At this particular moment, Neal does have a few irons in the fire that are way off the grid. He’s sure that Peter doesn’t have an inkling just yet, and the unrepentant con artist intends to play things close to the vest to keep it that way.

This morning, Neal assumes he’s on the hot seat, so he takes the initiative. He has learned over time that a strong opening offensive move is usually a good tactic. “So, what’s up, Peter?” he asks nonchalantly with raised eyebrows.

Peter leans back in his office chair and studies Neal thoughtfully. Getting any kind of helpful cooperation out of the young felon is like pulling teeth. But Peter loves a challenge. It keeps him sharp and on his toes, especially with this convoluted puzzle of contradictions sitting in front of him.

“So, Neal, maybe you might have read about a recent stupendous robbery in Sweden,” Peter begins as he steeples his fingers in front of his face. “I’ve just been personally contacted by Europol regarding the heist of some very valuable Swedish crown jewels. Since the haul is so hot, it’s doubtful that the thieves kept it in that country. The authorities assume it has been smuggled out of Sweden, so they are reaching out to law enforcement in every major city around the globe.”

Neal looks puzzled and shrugs his shoulders. “I guess I must have missed that little item in my daily newspaper. Enlighten me.”

Peter is very accommodating as he watches Neal like a hawk for some tell. “Two royal golden crowns, adorned with precious gems and pearls, and a similarly jewel-encrusted orb were brazenly stolen from a cathedral just outside of Stockholm last Tuesday. They were on temporary display at a church in Strängnäs. These artifacts date back to the 17th century and are of great historical value. The larger golden crown and the accompanying orb were made in 1611 for King Karl IX’s funeral which took place at the Strängnäs Cathedral, and the smaller coronet was made for the monarch’s wife, Kristina, when she died in 1625. At the time of the robbery, the artifacts were on display for visitors to ogle behind locked and electronically-alarmed glass. The thieves actually smashed the glass and then fled, first on bicycles, and then by motorboat. They are still at large at this time.”

Neal looks awed, but not for the right reason. “Wow, pulling off a smash and grab heist like that on a bicycle is impressive. My hat is off to whomever managed that kind of panache.”

Peter sighed. Of course, Neal would be singing the robbers’ praises. However, now it was time to get down and dirty with his irascible informant, although it was probably going to be a process of one step forward and two steps back with the CI.

“Neal, I need you to be honest with me,” Peter began in earnest. “Do you know anything about this?”

“Not until you told me the tale just now.” Neal reassured him.

“Don’t lie to me, Neal. I want to know if you’re connected to it in any way, shape, or form,” Peter pushed.

Now it was Neal who was heaving a frustrated sigh. “Peter, you have that annoying little app on your phone that tracks me day and night. I know that you fixate on it more than what is probably healthy. So, just do your normal spelunking and you’ll see I’ve been within my radius. I haven’t hopped a quick SAS flight to Sweden recently, so how can I be involved? Now, if you’re into astral projection, that’s a whole different kettle of fish.”

“Don’t get cute with me, Neal,” Peter growled. “I know you weren’t in Sweden physically, but were you aware that any of your nefarious associates or sketchy previous acquaintances planned to pull off this caper? If the stolen cache made it to the States, are any of your usual fences involved? If so, you had better start coughing up names right now or there will be consequences.”

“Are you actually asking me to narc on my friends, Peter?” Neal asked in an affronted tone. “If you are, let me tell you about the ‘consequences’ of that little misstep. I’d forfeit my gold club membership status in that nether world, and I’ll never again be able to obtain any valuable intel to keep your ‘win’ statistics in the stratosphere. I thought that our original deal was for me to provide my knowledgeable expertise regarding how a crime was committed. Call me naïve, but I never expected to become your personal stool pigeon. Not cool, Peter. Definitely not cool.”

Peter glowered at his CI. “Just answer the question, Buddy. Do you know anything about the heist? A simple yes or no will suffice at this juncture.”

“No, I do not,” Neal answered forcefully.

Peter sat back in his chair, far from pacified with Neal’s denial. “Down the road, if you do hear about anyone being involved, would you ever tell me if they weren’t friends of yours?”

“Now we’re talking in hypotheticals, Peter. Let’s not go there,” Neal responded.

Peter was stymied, just as he normally was with this cheeky and annoying bundle of paradoxes sitting in front of him. “I swear, sometimes I don’t know why I keep you around, Neal,” he huffed in frustration.

Neal favored his handler with a beatific smile. “Because I’m easy on the eyes, witty and charming, and very useful in the long run. And you know that you love me, Peter. Everybody does.”

~~~~~~~~~~

After the work day ended, Neal took a circuitous route back to June’s loft. After two bus rides and a subway trek, he was sure that he had eluded any tails Peter may have put on him to see if Neal met with anyone. The con man chuckled to himself as he pictured men in boxy, outdated suits scrambling to follow their elusive quarry around bustling Manhattan. This on-going game with Peter was actually fun. Neal liked a challenge, and he liked Peter. That’s the only reason that he stuck around and acted submissive and placid. It was all a façade, except for his feelings for his handler. The tall, serious FBI agent was actually easy on the eyes, too, and there had been some very lurid and graphic fantasies played out from time to time in Neal’s massive tiger oak bed. But the con man was a realist. Cops and criminals did not mix well. It was like trying to compare apples and oranges, and some species definitely could not mate. But tell that to Neal’s overactive libido!

However, there was another reason that Neal would never try to seduce his handler, and that reason was the man’s wife. Neal had stolen a lot of things in his life, but he could never steal from Elizabeth Burke. But then that little devil in his psyche argued that it really wouldn’t be stealing. It was more a matter of borrowing, like a neighbor borrowing a cup of sugar which they would later return with a gracious thank you. Sure, a spontaneous roll in the hay would be just a temporary aberration in the staunch FBI agent’s life. No harm, no foul, and nobody had to know that it had ever happened.

~~~~~~~~~~

Several days passed and the dance continued. Peter kept an eagle eye trained on his CI, and Neal kept his smile in place and acted like a Boy Scout. It was tedious and boring for the con man, and he surmised that the situation was likewise for Peter as well. Neal craved stimulation, and he was actually missing Mozzie, who seemed to have disappeared somewhere into the ether. These small absences occurred from time to time, so Neal didn’t worry too much. The strange little bald man always materialized again and was available and eager to raid Neal’s wine stash. Finally, after a week, Mozzie sailed into Neal’s loft and made for the Malbec.

“Well, ‘hello’ to you, too,” Neal said facetiously.

“Oh, hello, Neal,” Mozzie said absently.

“Where you been, Moz?” Neal asked.

“Oh, here and there,” the short man said evasively. “You know, I had places to go and people to see,” he added without meeting Neal’s gaze.

As Mozzie passed Neal on his way to the couch, Neal got a whiff of something that stirred a memory. “Mozzie, you’ve been hanging out with Alex Hunter.”

“Now why would you think that?” the little man stuttered. Mozzie could never master a poker-face.

Neal was quick to pounce. “I smell _Joy Parfum_ on your clothes, Moz, and that’s Alex’s signature scent. It costs $800 an ounce, so maybe that’s why she adores the mystique.”

Mozzie just shrugged his shoulders and stared off into space. Neal slowly strolled in front of the sphinxlike man and his nimble fingers extracted a bit of colored paper from the pocket of the bald man’s flannel shirt. It was a yellow origami-folded flower. “Care to fill me in as to why Alex has decided to leave her Greek island and return to New York?” Neal asked curiously.

“Nope, no can do,” Mozzie said adamantly.  

“Really, Moz? Is this how we’re going to play it? Where’s your sense of camaraderie?” Neal wheedled.

“Sorry, mon frère, but my lips are sealed,” Mozzie quickly answered as he pressed a finger across his mouth. “You can torture me with bamboo slivers under my fingernails, but it won’t do you any good because yours truly is like a vault that not even the great Neal Caffrey can open.”

“Melodramatic much?” Neal snarked. “How about this? Finish your wine and then toddle off to tell Alex that I want to see her, sooner rather than later. You won’t be compromising your integrity, Moz. You’ll just be passing along a little message.”

~~~~~~~~~~

It didn’t take very long to get a response. The next evening, Neal was on his way home to June’s carrying a take-out Thai meal. He was walking along his normal route since he had tired of all the cloak-and-dagger evasion tactics performed for Peter’s benefit. Eventually, he came abreast of a stooped and bedraggled old man pushing the trademark shopping cart probably filled with all his earthy possessions. The down-on-his-luck soul suddenly placed a dirty hand on Neal’s arm.

“You look like a kind person, Sir,” he rasped. “Something in that sack smells really good. I haven’t had a real meal since—well, I can’t rightly remember. Would you be willing to share some of what you have with a poor, hungry man?”

Neal eyed the beggar closely and didn’t smell alcohol or see wild, unfocused eyes. He looked exactly like what he was supposed to be, but Neal’s senses went on high alert when he felt a light touch near the pocket of his suit jacket. The con man had his suspicions about this scenario, but he was curious. He wanted to see how this would all play out, so he cautiously extended his carry-out food.

“Thank you and God bless a generous and charitable man,” the old beggar murmured as he placed the bag in his cart and hurried away. When Neal let his own hand explore his suit pocket, he found that his phone was missing. It had been replaced with another origami flower—a pink rose this time. Inside the delicate petals was a message written in tiny calligraphy.

_“Come retrieve your phone. Plaza Hotel Lobby 9 pm.”_

_~~~~~~~~~~_

Later that evening, Neal was patiently cooling his heels in the magnificent French Renaissance chateau-inspired hotel on the corner of 5th Avenue. From his perch on a brocaded chair in the ornate, massive lobby, he watched New York’s elite arrive in chauffeured limos for some black-tie function that was apparently taking place in one of the vast ballrooms. Many of the fashionably-dressed matrons sent an enticing smile his way as they swept past. Yep—Neal was, indeed, easy on the eyes and usually made a lasting impression. He also had seemed to attract the bell captain’s attention. Attired in his pristine  uniform with gold braiding, the hotel employee bowed low in front of Neal as he whispered, “Go around to the service entrance in the rear of the hotel, Mr. Caffrey. Raoul is waiting for you there and has what you need.”

Neal heaved a sigh. Nothing was ever simple with Alex. His past partner in crime got her jollies with role-playing and scavenger hunts. Nevertheless, Neal was up for a challenge and quietly slipped from the room to find the service entrance and some dude named Raoul. The man in question turned out to be a kitchen employee ferrying huge boxes of pastries for tonight’s gala from a bakery van parked in the back alley. He swiveled his head around cautiously before passing a room keycard to Neal. “Room 606,” he whispered conspiratorially before hurrying away.

Room 606 was actually a luxurious suite overlooking Grand Central Park. There were a few dim lights casting a soft glow in the sitting area, and an adjacent bedroom revealed a turned-down king bed. There was a mint on one pillow nestled right beside Neal’s cellphone. The con man turned as a rustling came from an alcove that probably opened into a bathroom. Alex Hunter had quietly padded in on bare feet wearing one of the hotel’s complimentary bathrobes.

“Hello, Alex,” Neal said warmly with a genuine smile. “Find anything interesting on my phone?”

The attractive brunette had her own coy smile in place as she seductively sashayed closer. “Since it’s password protected, the answer to your question is ‘no.’ I just wanted to pluck your nerves a tad as a little payback. You know, I really hate being summoned like one of your minions, Neal.”

“I would never term you as anything close to a sycophant, Alex. Once upon a time, you were much, much more,” Neal said softly.

“Well, that was a long time ago,” Alex protested. “Long before you got mixed up with Kate. Now I can’t trust you because you’re tangled up with someone else. How is Agent Burke these days _?_ Is he still a slave driver keeping tabs on everything that you do?”

“He does his best, but when I’m motivated, I’m much better at outfoxing the fox,” Neal replied smugly.

“Still, a girl can’t be too careful,” Alex mused. “Just to put my worries to rest, why don’t you go into the bathroom and get comfortable by taking off your clothes. I left another robe hanging behind the door. And Neal, definitely leave your phone, your wristwatch, and any pens from your pocket by the sink.”

Neal smiled and temporarily disappeared to do as she had asked. When he returned, Alex was standing at the large picture window looking out at the spectacular nighttime vista that only New York could provide. The top of her white robe was now down below her shoulder blades revealing the smooth curvature of her spine. Neal was suddenly aroused, and it was a hard fact to hide under the folds of his own robe.

“Poor, Neal. You missed dinner tonight,” Alex said softly as she turned and eyed his erection. “You must be hungry,” she purred with a seductive smile as she let her own garment slide to the floor.

“I definitely could eat,” Neal answered with a leer as his own robe joined her’s on the Oriental rug.

~~~~~~~~~~

Neal was, indeed, a ravenous man that night. He used his tongue to tease and titillate until Alex was wet and panting out her first orgasm. She proved that she was just as lusty as Neal, and the night’s acrobatics took on a wild and uninhibited fervor. Alex raked her nails down Neal’s back and chest, and sank her teeth into other fleshy areas. He captured her small hands and held them above her head, but she quickly encircled him with her thighs and pulled him in closer, demanding and receiving his furious thrusts. When Neal allowed her to straddle him, she rode her stallion with wild abandon and was loud and lewd. Eventually, Neal came in hot spurts while staring at Alex’s contorted face in the throes of reaching her own pinnacle of pleasure.

Finally, even young, eager bodies surrender to exhaustion, and as the two sated lovers lay side-by-side on the big bed, they began to breathe in sync. It was Neal who first broke the post-coital spell.

“We need to talk, Alex,” he said softly as he turned toward the vixen beside him.

“Damn it, Neal. You sure know how to ruin the moment,” she moaned in reply.

Neal ignored the pout. “I think you’re in a bind,” he said as he stared into her eyes.

Alex smiled as she gave him a sly leer from under her eyelashes. “I’m not in a bind anymore, stud man. You untied the silk scarves hours ago.”

“Touché,” her lover chuckled. “But, seriously, I suspect you have a very big problem.”

“Do I?” was the innocent reply. “Why don’t you tell me what you think that is.”

“I think,” Neal mused, “that you have taken on a very hot consignment of goods that you can’t move.”

“Really?” Alex asked innocently. “Now how did you come to that outlandish conclusion?”

Neal pushed a pillow up against the headboard, leaned back, and then carefully watched Alex’s face as he spooled out his theory. “I give kudos where they are due. You are the cream of the crop, Darlin’, when it comes to fencing high-end merchandise, and you have a sterling global reputation in a certain off-the-grid community. But this time, you may have bitten off more than you can chew. There are limits to even your expertise, Alex, and now you’re swimming in waters that are way over your head.”

“Wow! A compliment and a put-down all in the same breath,” Alex frowned. “My knight in shining armor is losing points in the chivalry department. But, go on with this fairy tale. I’m intrigued.”

“Okay, how about I get more specific,” Neal suggested. “You agreed to fence certain esoteric royal items, but there are no takers standing in line to buy them. Even breaking up the set into individual pieces isn’t tempting the usual illegitimate collectors who are suddenly claiming that the risk of owning them isn’t worth it. Buyers could never display their prizes. They’d have to squirrel them away forever, so what’s the upside to that? You’re left holding a hot potato, and eventually Europol will get around to turning your life inside out. Got any hidden caves on your Greek island, Alex?”

“ _If_ I was in possession of such things, there are other ways of getting around the so-called problem—hypothetically, of course,” Alex smirked.

“Of course,” Neal agreed. “Perhaps you are talking about hypothetically dismantling certain items, and maybe removing little sparklers and melting down some gold.”

“If you say so, Neal. This is your fairy tale,” Alex cooed.

“Alex,” Neal sighed, “I did my homework just like you did. We both now know that the items are gold-plated, not solid gold, so that would be a lot of work for very little return. As for the gems, we’re talking about precious and semi-precious stones that were fashioned in the 17th century with Old World tools. They all have a flat table-cut rather than the brilliance of a more modern Tolkowsky presentation. The diamonds, themselves, aren’t that large, and most are dull and cloudy with visual inclusions. In today’s upscale market, discriminating buyers want rare-colored diamonds or pristine ones with trilliant and Asscher cuts that provide lots of sparkle and flash. I know that fences get a percentage of an item’s sale price, so, best guess, you’d only get pennies on the dollar for the lot, and it’s definitely not worth sticking your neck out.”

Alex sighed. “Neal, you sure know how to rain on a girl’s parade.”

“Ah, but I can provide an umbrella for ‘my lady’ to protect her from that ‘hypothetical’ downpour,” Neal said as he gave Alex his trademark smile.

Alex was leery of a Neal bearing gifts, but she did raise her eyebrows in a silent question.

“I have the perfect buyer for your ill-gotten little haul,” the con man claimed.

“And that would be?” Alex asked suspiciously.

“The Swedish government. Contact them in a roundabout, untraceable way and tell them you are holding their national treasure for ransom. Name your price, Alex—millions are definitely in the realm of possibility.”

Alex actually snorted. “It’s a known fact that governments don’t cooperate with kidnappers and their demands. That whole idea is preposterous!”

“Maybe not governments,” Neal explained, “but don’t underestimate altruistic individuals who espouse a sense of national pride. You may be surprised at the response.”

Alex looked thoughtful, so Neal pursued his case. “I know you’ve got Mozzie involved in your little dilemma, and the poor guy is a basket case of nerves. He’s practically breaking out in a psychosomatic rash. So, give him a task to get him focused on something besides his itch. He’s an absolute rain man on the dark web and has the wherewithal to set up clandestine bank accounts with routing numbers that disappear in the blink of an eye. So, I would advise making the Swedes an offer and giving them a time frame to raise the capital. If they go for it and cooperate, Mozzie can complete the transfer of funds from an initial Cayman account to other banks around the world as soon as the alert hits his phone. Your windfall will then instantly become rubles, yens, dinars, rupees, or any currency that you specify. Just make sure that it’s a country who will deny access to nosy investigators trying to follow the money trail.”

“ _If_ your plan works, I supposed you’ll expect to be compensated,” Alex postulated, dropping all pretenses of the hypothetical. “What part of my cut did you have in mind?”

“Not a penny,” Neal answered. “I simply want to keep you safe, Alex, just like old times.”

The dark-haired woman frowned. “Sure, just like you kept me safe all those years ago as we fled a Scandinavian castle and you left me in the dust.”

Neal did look contrite as he ran his thumb over the faint scar on Alex’s forearm. “I’ll admit, that wasn’t my finest hour and I’m sorry. But you did get your revenge when you left me behind in an Italian consulate while you hightailed it with a certain music box.”

Alex gave a rueful little smile. “Yeah, we are who we are.”

~~~~~~~~~~

And Peter Burke was who he was the next morning. When Neal sauntered into the FBI with a coffee cup in his hand, the CI was immediately confronted with the two-fingered summons. His nether parts hadn’t even made contact with the visitor’s chair in Peter’s office when his handler started with the suspicious questions. Well, to be accurate, they weren’t really questions. They were very factual allegations.

“Your tracking data showed that you spent a lot of time at the Plaza Hotel last night, Neal. Care to tell me why you were there?”

“What’s got you so wound up, Peter?” Neal asked curiously. “It’s within my radius.”

“Answer my question, Neal. What were you doing there?”

“If you must know, I had a date, although that personal information really doesn’t fall within your purview as my handler,” the con man claimed.

“But what you do on your off-time away from the Bureau is of great interest to me, Buddy. So, enlighten me further about this date,” Peter demanded.

“There was a black-tie affair last night at the Plaza, Mr. Inquisitive. Perhaps I escorted some fashionably dressed lady to the event,” Neal answered, not really telling a lie, but rather skirting the truth.

Now Peter was looming over his desk and glaring. “The tracking data on that anklet of yours is accurate down to a foot. You actually were whiling away your nighttime hours in room 606.”

“If you say so,” Neal replied nonchalantly.

“What were you doing, Neal?” Peter demanded.

“A gentleman doesn’t kiss and tell,” Neal said smugly.

“So, are you trying to tell me that you escorted some wealthy matron to a social function, but then opted to skip the rubber chicken dinner and spend your time in bed with her?” Peter asked cynically. “That’s a quick turnaround time, even for you.”

“If you want to perseverate on something, Peter, why don’t we start with the word, ‘escort,’ and what that implies,” Neal snarked. “An $800 stipend from the government is barely enough to put clothes on my back.”

“June puts clothes on your back, Neal, along with a pretty decent breakfast into your stomach,” Peter answered in a huff.

“Is that jealousy I’m hearing?” Neal grinned.

“I’m not buying any of this fantasy, Neal,” Peter ignored the gibe. “I checked the hotel registry bright and early this morning. That suite of rooms was booked under the name of Bonnie Parker, and that lady doesn’t exist.”

“Not anymore,” Neal smiled. “I believe that she died in a hail of bullets alongside her partner, Clyde Barrow, when the cops mowed them down on a rural Louisiana road during the Depression Era.”

“You’ve got an answer for everything, don’t you, Neal? I’m wise to you deflections.” Peter grumbled.

“I have to be sharp so that I can satisfy your curiosity and answer those inappropriate probing questions,” Neal responded coolly.

“Well, one day, Buddy, your hubris is going to be your downfall,” Peter predicted.

Neal just rewarded his handler with a smarmy smile.

~~~~~~~~~~

Barely ten days later, Neal was back in—you guessed it—Peter’s office. The FBI agent had a newspaper in front of him.

“It seems as if things ended well for the country of Sweden,” Peter began his spiel. “The stolen crowns and golden orb were found in a storage facility on Long Island. An unofficial ransom had been paid to get them back by some anonymous wealthy donors as well as large Swedish companies such as IKEA, Electrolux, AstraZeneca pharmaceuticals, and telecom giants like Ericsson and Skype.”

“How much was actually paid?” Neal asked curiously.

“The amount was never disclosed,” Peter answered succinctly. “Do you have any thoughts on this situation?”

Neal rocked back in his chair and looked up at the ceiling while formulating his response to the question.  “I think that whoever came up with this bold, audacious plan was thinking out of the box and utterly brilliant.”

Peter snorted. “I have just one response to your answer, Buddy— _hubris_!”

**Author's Note:**

> There is just one more fiction in this series. Care to guess on that pairing?


End file.
